


Lost, In New York

by colepaldigirl



Series: Two Years Before, When You Were Mine [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Being Lost, Conventions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Memories, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colepaldigirl/pseuds/colepaldigirl
Summary: Peter is stil at NYCC and things are strained between him and Elaine. He goes for a walk late one evening and gets lost only to have certain memories triggered of the last time that happened in NYC.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is RPF, please see my bio for usual warnings. If its not your thing, please don't read, its not meant to offend, its just some fiction.

 

 

_Look up here, I’m in heaven_

_I’ve got scars that can’t be seen_

_I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen_

_Everybody knows me now…_

_By the time I got to New York_

_I was living like a King…._

 

David Bowie, Lazarus 2015

 

**New York October 2016**

 

Right so this wasn’t looking familiar either. Just how far had he come anyway? And what time was it? Peter stopped at a crossing and tried to get his bearings while the traffic lined up at the red light. A couple of cars and a yellow taxi. He could ask the taxi, better still he could hail a taxi and go back to the hotel. Simple.

Or he could just keep walking and find his way back slowly. Put off the end of the night. He was on his way back from a bar where he’d allowed himself a rare few drinks after a long day at the convention. He never used to do that. Conventions before now were non stop events and fun, meeting fans and spending time with co-stars, but he increasingly felt the need to have some space. Everywhere he went people recognised him, and Fame was a demanding and two pronged companion.

He’d walk it off in the dark and extend his alone time. It was a pleasant enough evening, not raining, not freezing, if he kept moving he’d be only slightly chilly. It wasn’t warm like it was the last time he was here, but it had been too warm then and he didn’t mind the cold, it was in his blood.  Admittedly he was older then when he had last visited. Only by a couple of years but it felt like a decade tonight. He was sure though, if he kept moving he could ignore the slight ache in his joints and the knowledge that when he did get back to the hotel he’d be in trouble.

On cue his phone buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out to read the message almost at arm’s length. His eyesight was worse these days too. Everything was going downhill.

_Where are you?_

‘Well if I knew that I’d tell you,’ he grumbled. ‘Wait… No… Actually I wouldn’t.’

That was the whole point of this late night wander. To weave home from the bar. To continue to cool off and get his head together, burning off anger in a healthier way so that when he did return to his wife he didn’t just end up rowing again. He was tired. He was tired and jet lagged, tired and drained, tired of arguing about Jenna.

He told Elaine countless times he wasn’t seeing her anymore. He’d made a mistake. Two years ago. He knew he’d slipped and done wrong and he’d admitted his guilt.  He’d never done anything like it before and he never intended to again. He’d apologised, and begged and spent all year trying to make up for it, but he was rapidly getting to the point where he just didn’t want to anymore. Elaine would not forgive let alone forget, and at first he accepted that. He deserved it. But time ticked on and life was becoming unbearable. He couldn’t live like this, to be scrutinised, questioned and followed; blamed for every glitch in their marriage. Everything that was wrong was because of him. Everything Elaine wanted she had to have and control. And god help him whenever he so much as glanced at Jenna.

Jenna. She had been here this weekend too but of course his wife had spotted that even before he had fully digested the implications. He could go to the convention, but he had to stay clear of her. No hanging out together as they had last year. No going for a meal with her and the other alumni of the show. No photoshoots or joint signings. Opposite ends of the hall at all times and preferably separate hotels.

He felt like he was a ten year old being told to be home by six. Had it always been like this or did he just notice it more now that he had become famous? Since he wanted to play with his success, meet people and go places, enjoy his celebrity for a while. Was she tightening the reins in the face of that success, secretly insecure? He supposed he had added to that, but the tight reins had also pushed him in Jenna’s direction in the first place.

Separate hotels. Elaine hadn’t got her way on that as the convention organised it all, but it didn’t make much difference in the end. He didn’t see his old colleague anyway; his wife kept him busy. Jenna flew in, had some photos taken and signed some autographs and tonight she flew out again. Back to her full and successful life in the UK; barely a glance in his direction. She had changed too, they hardly communicated, she was filming in her own series, she had a live in boyfriend.

That hurt.

He should be fine with that though, right? He wanted to repair his marriage, didn’t he? He went through the motions, Elaine by his side at all times, watching every move, every word spoken, nodding in approval now and then or standing arms folded, grim faced if he wandered off topic.

Tonight was one of the few times in the last twenty-four hours he had been out from under her gaze. He found himself meandering down a street, wide sidewalks to walk on and bright headlights gliding past; Peter with hands in his pockets and head down. He really ought to go back, but he was now quite genuinely disorientated. He straightened and blew out through his lips, looked about him.

‘Hey Buddy, you lost?’

A short guy with a beard approached him with a swinging gait.

‘Yeah… yeah I am actually,’ he rubbed his hair self-consciously.

‘Nice accent… hey wait a second… you…’

Peter smiled patiently. Even here, in a random street in New York at midnight someone recognised him.

‘You’re the Doctor!’

‘I am. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Hey can I get a …?’

‘Sure, if you tell me how to get back to my hotel afterwards.’

The guy laughed. ‘Sure, sure, no problem, let me just get my phone. Take a picture, then I’ll show you a map.’

Peter waited while the guy’s stubby fingers fiddled with the screen of his iPhone, tapping instructions, zooming experimentally in and out of focus, setting up for a selfie. He seemed pretty absorbed so Peter glanced up and down the street looking for street names and numbers. He couldn’t quite grasp American street numbering, he chuckled, he recalled one night when he and Jenna…

And then he remembered, as he stood looking across the street, at the buildings there and the alleyway between two of them. At the distinctive bright paint on someone’s railings. They’d walked past those two years ago, impressed by the old artistic sensibility of the area, looking to immerse themselves in culture, and Peter had been rambling about architecture and hippies and music and how they just had to go to the Poets Café. He remembered her skipping along beside him because his legs were so much longer than hers. She was looking up at him all big eyes and excitement and clinging onto one of his arms, giggling and chattering back. She thought he was the coolest person she knew. She said so often enough, in public and private; whispering it in his ear as she moved on top of him, telling him how he made her feel.

He shut his eyes briefly, reliving her touch and her voice. Jenna made _him_ feel like the greatest man to walk the earth sometimes; she made him feel like a king. He told her that once, laying in the afterglow, and she dissolved into giggles, flopping onto the sheets beside him. King Peter. She couldn’t see it; he’d make a rubbish King.

She was probably right but he wasn’t standing for such mockery, he said, especially after what he’d just been doing for her, so he exacted punishment for her treason.

He could still hear her laughter if he closed his eyes; still see the way her eyes sparkled.

But that was then.

His soft smile faded slowly as his heartache returned. It was never far away. Peter opened his eyes again.

‘So you got that?’ the short guy checked with him, ‘head down this way, straight on… you know its late you might be better with a cab?’

Peter shook his head and put his hands back in his pockets.

‘Thank you, but its fine… I’ve nothing to rush back for.’

‘You sure? No special someone waiting up for you?’ he joked.

His vision blurred, Peter patted the man on the back and moved off down the street a little. He didn’t trust himself to answer anymore.

 

 

**New York August 2014. Day One, AM.**

‘Come on!’ she had hold of his wrist and was attempting to drag him out of the hotel bed. Jenna was already up and showered and dressed, her youth allowing her to defeat jet lag in one fell swoop while he continued to doze under the covers, exhausted. Well it wasn’t just the jet lag, she was responsible too, and as such should let him rest.

‘Peter!’

He started chuckling and yanked his arm bank suddenly making her totter in her ridiculous high shoes. There was a brief comical moment where her arms circled to keep balance before she fell face first onto the covers and onto him.

‘Umph.’

‘There now, just stay there a bit longer,’ he instructed.

‘But its lovely out there, its sunny, there’s places to be, Peter we’re in New York!’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m aware of that, but I’m also aware we didn’t sleep til about four am and whereas you seem to be as fresh as a daisy I am anything but.’

Jenna pouted, an expression that was often his undoing.

‘Do you need help waking up?’ she asked seriously.

‘What like… coffee?’

‘Yes!’ she said, ‘Let’s go get coffee from a New York Café with bagels!’

He groaned. ‘Forget coffee.’

Jenna slumped again. ‘What then? What would wake you up?’ she wriggled closer to him on the bed and looked down at his face ponderously. Slowly she walked her fingers down over his chest and then quickly flicked back the duvet to reveal his naked lower half.

‘Jenna!’

‘Uh-uh,’ she said warningly and continued her finger walking. Peter hissed and stiffened as she found her target. ‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘If this would help?’ she began a slow rhythm, gently stroking him up and down his length, occasionally sweeping her fingertips over his balls. Peter shut his eyes and sighed, aware of the cool air on his uncovered skin and the heat of Jenna’s hands. He felt her blow gently over his erection and he moaned in response, allowing his body to relax into her ministrations and anticipating what was to come.

Until she stopped and held him to ransom.

‘Jenna?’ he queried, opening his eyes. She perched on the side of the bed looking innocent with a hint of evil. ‘I’ll finish what I’m doing once you’re up and dressed.’

He frowned.

‘Ok I’ll finish after you shower,’ she bargained.

Peter sighed and levered himself up, ‘Surely _in_ the shower makes more sense, hygiene wise?

‘But I’m dressed.’

Peter eyed her carefully, ‘Well get _un_ dressed.’

There was a minor standoff during which Jenna chewed her lip, determined not to be backed into a corner. Finally she gave out.

‘Ok, undressing,’ she unzipped her dress, ‘Then shower sex, then…’

‘Then we go get coffee and bagels…. And visit places,’ he promised. Peter went ahead to the bathroom, shut the door behind him briefly for privacy as he relieved himself. He was still exhausted, still jet lagged, but the beautiful, funny, delightful woman in the room next door made none of that matter. He’d take her for coffee if that’s what she wanted. He’d do anything she asked.

Flushing the loo and turning on the shower he opened the door to find her leaning impatiently against its frame looking impish, and naked. Peter pursed his lips briefly and stooped to lift her up. Without thinking the pair of them knew exactly what to do, they just moved together without speaking, they always did. He had her in his arms and she was wrapped around him, arms around neck, thighs at his hips.

He wasn’t a particularly strong man, in fact he was a wimp, he told her the first time she had initiated the move, but she poo-pooed him and smacked his thigh, squeezing it with her fingers and appraising the muscle. Was he implying she was fat, she asked. The idea was ridiculous, she was perfect, always. So he lifted and twirled her and propped her against the wall while he kissed her, and love made her weightless.

He put her in the shower with him and immediately forgot the idea was to get clean and go for breakfast. Jenna tightened her hold on him and kissed him hard and deep, the water pounding over his shoulders, wetting their hair so that it lay dark against her pale skin. She was suddenly demanding, she got like that he was learning, nought to sixty in seconds and she’d be climbing over him, grinding herself against him, her kisses frantic.

She made the most incredible sounds. Polite but funny, Jenna, a girl who always looked classy, never raised her voice in anger, was moaning in his arms, getting louder and louder, cursing as she neared her peak. It drove him to the edge quickly, sent shot of intense arousal through his body that he hadn’t experienced in years. Just like the strength he seemed to find in her, now he found this new virility, desperate but holding off as she reached her climax, punching out his name in staccato breaths as she finished and he drove hard into her one last time.

Leaning on the tiled wall, the water still raining down over his back and Jenna lowered to the floor, tiredly wrapping her arms around him and snuggling her cheek to his chest.

‘Dear God,’ he whispered, his thighs aching, ‘Any chance we can have a lie down?’ He half expected her to tease him, her old worn out lover, but instead she drew back nodding and wordlessly pulled him from the cubicle. She thrust a towel at him.

‘Maybe just an hour,’ she agreed, ‘Don’t get too comfy, I have plans remember.’

 

**New York, October 2016**

He knew his way now, his mate with the stocky build had directed him and now the inevitable was approaching. He’d get back to the hotel in another twenty minutes at this pace and she’d be there, Elaine, sitting up in bed with a book and quizzing him on his movements. He could imagine the questions. Had he sneaked out to say goodbye to her? Had he met her at her hotel? It didn’t matter anymore what he said, she would accuse him anyway.

His marriage was crumbling, his relationship with his wife now unrecognisable. They had always been so close, strong, he’d always loved her utterly and now he wondered if for all those years he and worn rose tinted glasses. Well, being with Jenna had removed them. Her style of love had swept him overboard, overwhelmed. She adored him, openly and warmly. The way she looked at him made him feel weak and humble and proud and strong all at the same time. He saw absolute loyalty in her, total admiration and pride for his talent, and faith. Faith that he was everything she thought he was.

He almost felt like he was deluding her, that he was a fake somehow and he told her so but she wouldn’t have it. She loved him, and that was that.

Wandering down a side walk he stopped outside a café-bar and looked through its windows. A couple were still draped over a couch inside, holding coffee cups against their bodies. Chatting, laughing, wrapped up in themselves and their love. He envied them briefly.

Peter tried to remember the last time Elaine said I Love You. He said it every day, on the phone, in person; in private he was a warm, affectionate soul. He remembered how surprised Jenna had been at his delight in cuddles and low key Sunday snuggling. The stern Doctor, frightening Mr Tucker, wrapped around her kissing and stroking her skin, half dozing in her warmth.

He watched the couple for a moment longer, the man was sitting at one end of the couch while she draped herself horizontally, leaning against his side. It was an artistic photoshoot waiting to happen, one that had happened twenty odd years ago in London.

Looking down he scuffed the sidewalk with one boot and dragged himself away. The photoshoot had come with an interview, one asking about their recent wedding, how they’d met, when they’d realised they were in love. For Peter love came instantly, he was that sort of person, he’d fall for someone and dedicate his life to them in minutes then be easily hurt when his intense love was rejected.

Elaine was different. She’d been his friend and told the interviewer it came as a shock to realise she ‘ _like_ liked him, as in liked him that way too.’ He remembered thinking at the time that was so her, so cool. Now it didn’t feel as ok as it and then. Now it made him wonder what she did feel. He suspected that he’d done a bigger share of the loving than she and all this time. He’d see that when he got back to the hotel. Cool. Cool was actually cold these days. Cool was in control and always had been while he had danced around her trying to please like a lapdog.

He was dawdling, he knew it, thinking about Elaine and pining for Jenna. Now there was love at first sight. Watching her walk into a restaurant looking tiny and a bit nervous, trying to gauge her new co-star, this old grey stick insect who would replace youthful funny Matt. No wonder she had appeared anxious, Peter was best known for playing a caustic spin doctor with a foul mouth and now he was going to play opposite her every day. If they didn’t get on it would be a disaster.

He knew they’d get on. He’d worried all night about it but when she came in and smiled that smile, he knew. He felt something jump start his quiet, withered heart, and warmth and joy spread through him. He had jumped up to greet her and had thought he’d shake her hand but impulsively leaned down to kiss both her cheeks, and she didn’t mind. For a moment everything froze and it was just them, Peter and Jenna, captured in their first minute together, eyes locked and some unspoken chemistry already working like magic.

He was old enough to know love when he felt it, but he nonetheless tried to avoid the inevitable. He held out a few months, convinced himself they could just be friends but by the time they got to New York on the World Tour for the show things had developed, their relationship had changed.  He had changed.

That first time in his apartment, scripts cast to one side and her scrabbling to undo his belt, her lips fastened to his, kissing and nipping and popping buttons from his shirt. They’d locked eyes again and this time, fuelled by wine and their odd, private, close little world, they’d given in. Passion. Like he hadn’t felt in decades; ending up flat on the couch with her thighs around his hips and her clothes only half undone. It had hit them like a hurricane.

Peter stopped outside the hotel and took several deep breaths. He felt a sense of doom falling over him, wished for the thousandth time he didn’t have to go in, that he could somehow run and hide. That she was here.

Two years ago she had been. Two years ago he had been a few months into something new and vibrant and life altering. For the first time in his life he felt incredible, not just making do, not average, but simply fantastic, every day.

He had his dream job, the fame that came with it, the money, the fans, the dapper suits and the cool shades. He was a rock star, he was fucking David Bowie. When he stepped out of a car people actually screamed. It was funny and scary at the same time, overwhelming and exhilarating and no-one could understand what that really felt like unless they had been there themselves or were standing alongside him.

Jenna was next to him, every day; she was living it all with him from the read through room to the tour. Finally alone with him in New York they had spent a wild few days letting themselves be who they really were while Elaine was away.

Overexcited, elated and running on caffeine and pure natural highs, Peter remembered Jenna stepping out the taxi alongside him, winking, smiling that secret smile. They had just arrived in the city, just been reunited in the cab like a pair of horny teenagers.   He was buzzing from orgasm; she was standing at his side with her arm around him, looking ethereally beautiful, adoring him right there in public, right there on red carpets around the world where she made him feel like the most important man alive. The best, the greatest, the most loved.

He’d experienced that feeling whenever he was with her. It didn’t matter what they did, everything was a thrill.

He remembered their bagel breakfast and Jenna’s excitement on their first full day there; the round of official events they had done later; the photos and the empire state building and the pretty yellow dress she wore. He remembered getting back to their rooms that evening after hours wandering lost after dinner, and removing that dress, sopping wet; her endless energy and amusement when he collapsed back on the bed afterwards a sign she was feeling better after her scare.

She’d been frightened when they’d wandered too far from the areas they knew and the hot summer night grew darker. They’d been drenched in sudden heavy rain and she’d actually started crying, her underlying fatigue emerging. She ended up clinging to him, a tired, anxious little creature and then he’d been her hero, rescued his damsel in distress, got her back to the hotel in one piece. It tapped into all his protective instincts and he couldn’t love her more.

They ordered room service at one am and made love until the small hours again to fix the last of her worries and repay her debt to him. Not that she needed to. He’d do anything for her and he _could_ do anything as far as she was concerned, he could make everything right. Everything except one unspoken thing. Every night was the same when they were together, when they snatched time in the darker hours; they used every moment, wrung it dry of every drop of love. Tonight was no different, he was exhausted but oh so aware that there wouldn’t be another night like it for a while. His wife flew back to meet them tomorrow.

His wife. Peter smiled bitterly, eying the door to the hotel and feeling his spirits sink; wanting to delay even further and just bathe himself in memories. It was painful how much he missed Jenna and everything they were. He wished she was here, that she’d been lost again with him, that he could be a braver man. That he had been braver back then when she was still his, when he could have made a break for it if he’d had the guts.

He sat on the step outside and watched the cars pass by, a song going around his head from a man who had had it in him to be brave even in the darkest final days; who had always been Peter’s hero.

 

_By the time I got to New York,_

_I was living like a king…_

 

Peter covered his face. He’d never felt less like one.

 

**New York August 2014 Day One, Evening.**

‘I knew I should have worn flats,’ Jenna hopped on one leg for a second while she tried to adjust the straps of her ridiculous shoes and gain some comfort. Peter used the opportunity to look up and down the street.

‘Why is everything an east thirty-second-avenue or a west sixty-fifth street?’ he asked, ‘Or some other weird combination of numbers and directions? Why can’t things have names?’

‘They do, they have names, directions and numbers. It’s more logical,’ she commented leaning on the brightly coloured bannister behind her.

‘No, it isn’t,’

‘Maybe not to you, you don’t do numbers… you’re all arty.’

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, ‘ _arty_?’ he responded, ‘Something wrong with that?’

‘No, just saying… you’re not a natural with numbers or… direction… or knowing which way is home,’ she held his gaze seriously for a moment before he giggled.

‘Yeah OK, I got us lost, I’m sorry.’

Jenna sighed and got her phone out, ‘Maybe google maps will help.’ Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Just because you don’t do technology either,’ she said.

‘Look I don’t think we’re far from the hotel,’ he said, ‘And this looks familiar- _ish,_ ’ he added as she looked up doubtfully. ‘Honestly, trust me, it’ll be fine. Come on,’

He saw her look at him doubtfully for a second before her absolute trust of him kicked in and she took his arm. ‘Ok better not be far though, if we’re still walking in half an hour we call the police.’

‘I think that’s a bit excessive….’

‘No, it’s not, this city is huge and I don’t want things to turn all _Home Alone 2_.’

‘I’m not familiar with that one…’ Peter mused taking in the last of the sunset.

‘Not _arty_ enough?’

‘Shut up,’ he smiled.

‘It’s set in New York; he gets lost…. Like us.’

‘We will be fine.’

The walk itself was at first rather effortless and pleasant if a little hot, but as time ticked by it was more and more draining and sticky. Peter had noticed the humidity descending along with the darkness and beside him Jenna was tiring from a combination of the damp heat and her four inch heels. She was already tired from all the touring and jet lag and gradually her good humour wavered. Her replies were shorter and he was just about to suggest a cab after all, if they could work out where they were, when… he worked out where they were. Sort of.

Brightly coloured bannister and railings outside someone’s home, and an alleyway between the building and its neighbour. His heart sank. They’d been there before earlier in the evening and gone around in a circle. Peter was a bit worried about Jenna’s reaction when he told her. She was fixing her shoes again and he could see even in the street light her feet were blistering and looked red and sore.

‘Umm Jenna…’

She glanced up. ‘Are we there? Nearly there? Tell me we are there.’

‘We’ve been here before but…’

He saw her look at the railings and her face darkened. ‘Peter!’ she sort of growled, not one for explosive anger unless really pushed he could see she was simmering. He felt the first large raindrop hit his cheek and she turned back to him seething. She actually looked rather attractive with her cheeks flushed with rage and a sheen of sweat from the sultry heat. A powerful feeling came over him; he wanted to kiss her. They’d been occupied and out in public all day, unable to get close in any meaningful way. He wanted to touch her, kiss the salt from her skin.

‘Its fine, its fine I’ll call a cab,’ he patted his pockets for his phone.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ she demanded suddenly, look at hers while she waited.

‘What? Cabs don’t mind that here, twenty-four-hour city…’ Peter squinted and scrolled through options.

‘No I mean, it’s after midnight, it’s dark, we don’t know where we are and what if someone spots us? We’re well known enough they might think we’re loaded or want to hold us to ransom. What if we get mugged or knifed or shot!?’ her eyes were a little too wide and wild for comfort. She wasn’t serious was she? Maybe she had started out joking about and now she was so tired she was being dragged along with her own imagination.

Peter regarded her curiously. ‘Are you ok? That all sounds a bit dramatic.’

‘Oh and I suppose you’re not worried at all…’

‘Well it’s a bit inconvenient…’ he said distractedly, focused on the phone. Behind him, somewhere out in the streets a car backfired and he saw her jump out of the corner of his eye. He felt guilty, she was overtired and anxious and he should have had her tucked up in bed hours ago. Just because she was always so full of enthusiasm when she was around him didn’t mean he should just run with it. He should look after her better.

‘It’s just a car,’ he soothed, then pulled a face ‘Someone’s big end.’

She managed a tiny smile and then lapsed back into jittering; part fear, part cold.

‘Peter, seriously, I know that all sounded a bit crazy but we don’t know where we are, New York has some rough areas, we don’t know it at all, and its late and we stick out like sore thumbs…we could wander into something, or someone could hurt us…’

The rain was really coming down now and without thinking Peter removed his jacket and slung it around Jenna before moving her into the relative shelter of the alleyway close by.

‘Calm down, its ok,’ he soothed, rubbing her back.

‘No, it isn’t. You’re not actually a superhero, Peter. If we get attacked…’

‘Jenna no-one is getting attacked.’

‘But…’

‘Shh….’ They were in the alleyway now and he saw her lean against the wall and hug his jacket around her. She shifted her weight from painful foot to painful foot. Her hair was getting wetter and wetter, dark as it had been in the shower, plastering to her cheeks. She tried to swipe some from her face but as the rain poured down harder she gave up, ducking her head miserably. Right, he’d let her down, he needed to get her back to the hotel. He scrolled down a list of numbers, absorbed in finding a taxi firm for a moment, but when he looked up he found her watching him, looking like she might fall apart any second.

He waved the phone, ‘Getting a taxi, won’t be long, you ok?’ he asked again.

‘It’s wet,’ she said,’ ‘It’s wet, and we’re lost and its late.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her before realising his shirt was soaked and sticking to him and all he had done was transfer more wet.

‘It’s fine. Just call the cab,’ she looked away, water running it droplets down her face, shadows obscuring much of her expression. ‘There’s a street sign opposite, give that address.’

Guilty he wandered back out into the street, already soaked so seeing no need for speed, and sure enough there was a sign. He squinted up at it through the driving rain and called the cab at last, telling them the address and listening in misery as they gave a rough timescale.

Back in the alley she did not receive the news well. ‘How long?’ Jenna exclaimed. He repeated the approximate time quietly and she clenched her jaw. It took him a moment to realise that some of the water running down her cheeks was actually tears. He felt his heart break a little.

‘Oh, Jenna, come here,’ he pulled her close to him and tucked her head under his chin. ‘I’m so sorry, this is a disaster isn’t it. His fingers threaded through her wet hair and she tipped her head back to look at him, all red eyes and running mascara. He tidied up her face with his thumbs, washing away the make-up and kissing her on the forehead.

‘Properly,’ she said.

‘Hmm?’

‘Kiss me properly,’ she said, ‘If we have to wait in an alley getting soaked I want to make it memorable.’

‘This isn’t memorable?’ he said.

‘Not in a good way no.’

Somewhere in there Jenna’s humour was still intact so he leaned forward and kissed her until she crawled up him and he took the hint. Peter lifted her as he had that morning, breaking their kiss.

‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘My feet hurt, and it’s your fault so you have to hold me up.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he kissed her again, his hands pushing up under her skirt and his mind wandering to his earlier desire to take her while she was annoyed with him. The humid night and the way her skin felt damp to the touch was turning him on more than he had anticipated. He felt her move against him and realised she was experiencing the same thing. Maybe they could have some fun in this alley before transport arrived.

Peter began kissing her neck, a weak spot if ever there was one, in the hope he could persuade her to be daring.

‘Your shirt is see through,’ she observed dropping her gaze, Peter straightened and looked down at himself.

‘I don’t really suit the wet look, makes me look scrawny.’

‘Shut up! It’s a good look. You are so drenched,’ she giggled and played with his hair for a moment. ‘I think I’m developing a new fetish or two,’ she mused.

‘Oh?’ he asked agog, ‘Two?’

‘You, soaking wet is the first one,’ she glanced out into the street, ‘Taxis are the second.’

Peter let her drop gently to the ground, ‘That’s not our taxi.’

‘It’s a _taxi._ Go!’

He took the hint and scuttled from the alleyway, emerging from the dark so fast the taxi driver jumped a little behind the wheel. He had parked up to gnaw on his sandwich and take a break in the deluge and he did not look amused. Nevertheless Peter tapped on his window. The guy swung from pissed to wary, before recognition passed over his face. He wound the window down hurriedly.

‘Doctor Who,’ he smiled, spitting lettuce out of his mouth, ‘You’re Doctor Who! You need a cab?’

‘You have no idea how much I need a cab right now,’ he said relieved. ‘Jenna!’ he called over his shoulder then looked around to check she was ok.

Jenna, her yellow dress soaked and clinging to her, hair in strands across her cheeks and his jacket black with water, hugged around her. Her make-up was running and she was shaking her head at him, but her smile was wide with relief and admiration. He never forgot that image, not one detail.

‘How do you _do_ that?’ she had asked, coming forward as Peter opened the door of the taxi for her.

‘Do what?’

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, blinking raindrops away. ‘Fix things for me. Every time…. Maybe you are a superhero after all?’

Jenna smiled and ducked into the cab.  Peter swung the door shut, trotted round to the opposite side and got out of the rain. He suddenly felt so much better, even sitting as he was drenched in the backseat with a cold exhausted Jenna. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. Nowhere else that wanted him there as much.

 

**New York October 2016**

People were starting to look at him oddly as he sat bunched on the steps of the hotel. He supposed he did look a sight, all wild grey hair, exhausted eyes, dark suit and t-shirt. _Blackstar,_ one of his favourites, black on black, the dark star shape dense black and shiny, over his heart.  He wore it a lot as it suited his frame of mind and it seemed rather appropriate as he lingered there, putting off the inevitable.

There were ideas behind its meaning in the media, what had Bowie meant? Wasn’t it actually some kind of black hole? An empty vacuum sucking light from the universe? He chuckled darkly, yeah that’s how he felt alright, like the light had been removed from him, sucked out of his spirit. There were other theories behind it too, however. Some said it represented cancer, malignancy; something that would slowly kill.

Slowly dying. Yes. Wasn’t everyone?

Oh wasn’t he a bundle of fun tonight. He scrubbed at his hair and looked out across the street to see nothing in particular. Seriously, when were things going to get better? This was crazy. No Jenna. Angry Elaine. When was he getting a reprieve from all this heartache? He was well overdue one.

When Jenna had first said she was leaving the show he’d been devastated, but weeks later they were rehearsing those scenes and ending up making love. He was catapulted sky high and the world was his for a few weeks until she dropped another bomb.

When she said she’d leave at Christmas, his heart had sunk again and he’d mooched sadly around the set as they prepared to film her departure. She’d die in his arms an old woman.

Then the same thing happened, more or less. She started dropping hints as they lay in bed together at night. She talked about how special the time they had together was, how much she’d miss it and he took her clanging great hints and worked with them.

Peter arranged for Steven to beg her to stay one evening, and later that night Peter did his own form for begging, watching her laugh as she looked down on him from the wrecked and tangled bedcovers, mocking him for actually being on his knees and telling him to get up because he looked ridiculous and ok she would stay for another series. She’d wanted to all along deep down and she’d tell the boss tomorrow.

They reshot the end of the Christmas special and eloped together on screen, a couple.

So another reprieve, more proof that their bond was strong and she couldn’t leave him just as he couldn’t leave her. When they filmed the next series almost everyone sensed it. The crackling chemistry, their physical closeness, the sheer amount of time they spent huddled in corners whispering and giggling and entertaining themselves with their own special language of jokes. Peter knew the crew had a good idea what was happening, that certainly Steven did, but there was an unwritten rule that what went on in Cardiff stayed in Cardiff and so life tripped along quite nicely. He refused to think of the future, it didn’t matter as long as she was there.

Then Jenna said she was leaving. Properly. For good. And this time there was no hint of wanting to stay. No part of her that wanted him or Steven to persuade her to hang on. Her mind was set. She had other things lined up and she’d really, really miss him but she felt now was the time to break loose. Of the show. And in a small voice, she added, of him.

Whenever he remembered that conversation he felt his throat close in grief and now was no different a year on or more, sitting on the steps, growing cold, by himself.

He had felt like he’d been punched and for a moment couldn’t react. She had panicked at his pale face had said she didn’t mean anything by it with regards to him; that it was just if she stayed much longer she’d be type cast forever and women had a limited time to make a name before they get written off for aging naturally. He knew that to be true, he’d been disgusted over the years by the industry’s attitude to women and he wanted Jenna to make it, and make it big. She had so much talent, he would always support her, but… leaving? It felt so personal, leaving the show, he _was_ the show for the most part. Leaving? Leaving _him_?

She had tried to smooth it over, reassured him they still had the rest of the series to shoot first and that she’d ‘keep in touch’ plenty and nothing would change really. That empty promise all friends make when they move on, and he suddenly knew that when she was gone anything beyond friendship would be over. He’d be lucky if they kept in touch at all with the pressures of modern life on them both, their schedules and their commitments and their families.

What happened in Cardiff… would never happen again. They’d never be the same.

No, somehow this would be ok. He buried his head in the sand and started counting down the days to the end, not wanting to believe it. Not allowing himself to. She always stayed, she always got drawn back by her love of the show, the crew, the writing. By her love of him. It would happen again, his reprieve, for a third time.

Peter held her in his arms on the last day of the shoot, and she was tiny and sweet in her blue waitress dress. There was a leaving do planned and they’d both be there and he hoped after that she could maybe stick around a couple more days while he finished up.

She kissed his cheek and pulled back to look at him, face serious, eyes focused. She had to be in London tomorrow, she said, she’d be _gone_ tomorrow.

She had to be in London. Just like she had to be there now, flying out before he’d even said hello, never mind goodbye. Flitting ghostlike in and out of the hotel they shared, not a word, just a look that he couldn’t read caught at a distance.

How could she be so distant after everything they’d shared? How could they really be apart so absolutely, definitely, unquestionably?  It was like she had left him and entered another world entirely, that she no longer saw him when she looked, that he was just an echo from her past she glimpsed now and then. A pale curiosity which passed as the bright lights of her life distracted her.

He still couldn’t quite believe it, still lived in vain hope every day, the Jenna he knew had loved him, would always love him, right? Would one day see that and come back?

He was still waiting. On the cold steps of the hotel.

Where was his reprieve?

Another ten minutes, then he’d go in.


End file.
